Write down: The level crossing with a single railway track, without barriers, equipped with. The slide still displayed the theory, but his mind stepped back 35 years: on the platform, long hair fluttering over the young boy's wet cheeks. Don't cry. If you let me go now, I will bring you the tastiest cheese filled pastries. The small fist let go of the dress' hem. One last time, he smelt her perfume and the scent of a promise. Present day, he cleared his throat: lunch break. Do you want anything from the kiosk, teach? A cheese filled pastry, please.
Monica Bologa
From the other side, someone's gaze is fixed on me. The man I loved 12 years ago. We look at each other stunned, without blinking. The light turns green. We cross the black and white stripes as if they were clouds. We are the only pedestrians who have forgotten to walk. When he reaches me, he stretches out his hand. We don't say a word, but our hands hold in passing. Strong, warm, intimate. I reach the other side of the road and don't turn my head. I keep walking, my breath heavy, his touch on my right hand.
George Dometi
A nameless war widow, embittered by the condition of solitude, had fallen in love with an epigrammatist who had stopped at the pedestrian crossing in a Beetle and let her pass with bags full of rural goodies. Under the corrosive pen of the rhyme mason, she had lived her ascent onto a pedestal museumified with pathos, being educated in the cadence of his cultural deficiencies, wanting to rise to his level. On his tombstone, she wrote: You saw me crossing the crosswalk, I caught your eye, Your wit rose in fervor, Your heart gave a sigh.
(Translated by Ioana Grințescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.